Mother Of Sharks
by Scion Project
Summary: The Legiones Astartes, gene-sons of the Primarchs, are beings of superhuman ability. They can do that which to mortal man is impossible. And yet, even four hundred alone against the full might of an Ork WAAAGH! is considered suicide. Domitia, daughter of Angron, leads the Hammers of Nuceria to do just that. If her father desires to see them dead, he will be sorely disappointed...
1. Chapter 1

**Long ago, **

**before the fires of the Great Betrayal forever transformed the Imperium,**

**there was an age undreamed of. **

**The Age of the Unremembered Empire.**

**To live in this Age was to not know gods,**

**To not know half-thought fables**

**It was to know reason**

**To live within the realm of wisdom**

**But it was the time right before the fall**

**Shadows of catastrophe loom**

**And great beasts shall stalk the stars**

**and under their feet**

**Man shall be in his Darkest Age **

**To live in this age was to walk under the fleets of the Great Crusade**

**To see what could have been…**

**Much of Imperial history has been lost.**

**Tales of valor innumerable burned before they could be read,**

**and the knowledge of the Primarchs' Scions was consigned to legend.**

**Theirs the history of an Imperium, forgotten even as it died…**

The Mother Of Sharks

She walked up to the brazen doors, her booted feet leaving muddy tracks on the crimson carpet. The carpet her father had had imported from one of the old courts of Terra. It was older than her, older than him, older than the palace; it was in service before the boots of settlers even touched the surface of Nuceria. And she was grinding her heels in as she walked; letting the mud and shit from the streets get ground in to spite her father.

The doors ahead of her were solid bronze, polished to a golden sheen. They depicted the rise of the emperor on one side, and the triumphs of her father on the other. Before she got within a dozen feet, four robed eunuchs stepped forward and heaved the colossal doors open, revealing the opulent chamber inside. Domitia strode forward without sparing the servants a glance, because their brains were filled with more docility implants than any beast in the arenas of old, and those men couldn't remember what their name was, let alone their status as human beings.

Inside was high columns, higher ceilings, and the same red carpet that was getting harder and harder to muddy as her boots started to run out of mud. The chamber was no less than a hundred meters long, and at least sixty tall. There were several levels of stairs that led up to the throne set at the highest point of the room. The walls were bare stone and mortar, save for the rows of weapons claimed from untold worlds and warriors. There were the stuffed heads of exotic beasts, those of Nuceria, Terra, and other Xeno worlds. As she walked she saw boltguns hung on racks, each one that had belonged to one champion or another. There were weapons the like of which she had never seen, some which even looked too impractical to use, all hung for display, with no names or identifiers of any kind. Some of the veterans of the legion like to boast that they knew the stories of all of the weapons, but that was an impossible feat; because many were simply memento-mori's taken from wherever the red angel happened to spill blood. These items were just trinkets, in the form of the only things that Angron could appreciate, ones that could end lives.

Domitia walked up the first flight of stairs, then the second, then the third, paying no attention to the walls or the columns, or anything else that would have impressed a normal man. She kept pressing forward, to the second highest level of the room. As she reached it, she looked right at her father, who was slouched on the throne, his head leaning on his hand. He wore a richly embroidered tunic and a velvet cloak, exposing most of his obvious augments, as well as his tattoos and his menagerie of scars. The cables and pins that replaced his hair were oiled, and glinting in the torchlight. He looked at her and said, "You're not kneeling." His voice was just a little bit raspy, but still deep and filled with menace. As he said it, two of his guards stepped out from behind his throne, wearing the leather and chain of traditional honor guards, their halberds in hand.

She responded, "I'm your daughter, not your slave. I will not kneel." She made sure that her tone was strong and unflinching, but not challenging, because any challenge to her father's authority would end with her head rolling.

"All of my subjects kneel at my feet." He made the slightest gesture and his two guards dropped to one knee, "the blood in your veins does not make you different from them." The two guards slid lower and pressed the face plates helmets into the carpet, fully kowtowing. Domitia could not glare at them, because anything less than eye contact with her father would be a disrespect worthy of execution.

Domitia looked him right in his eyes and said, "I will not kneel." She took a warriors ease-stance, her feet shoulder width apart and her arms clasped behind her back. "My knees shall remain unbent before you, the captains, or any other man who claims authority over me." She never broke eye contact with her father.

"Even if the Emperor himself were here, you would not give him the respect of kneeling?" the question was a goad and she knew it. This game they played, of testing the other's resolve was petty and she hated it, but she could not simply speak her mind to him, that course of action would bring about her demise.

She shook her head and said, "I would look him in the eyes and stand tall." She paused to breathe and collect her thoughts before she said what she meant, "He is no god, and we should not treat him as such. And if I would not give _him_ that, I will not give it to you either." His face contorted for a moment, first it was a snarl of rage, but before it completed its formation it had twisted into a malicious smile.

"I have a task for you." The words were loaded with poison, and made the very air uneasy. Domitia dreaded what words would next leave her father's mouth, but she did not show it.

She answered his veiled threat quickly, to diffuse the feeling of verbal venom present in the room. "Why else would you summon me?" Her father fixed her with a glare for that quip.

"There is a war band of the Xenos species referred to as 'Orks' headed towards the Imperial controlled star RU12-37." He shifted in his seat, so that he was leaning forward as he continued speaking. "I want you to take the _Hammers of Nuceria_ chapter, as well as the auxiliary companies of that chapter. Take the strike cruiser _Hand of Malice_ and set sail at once." He brought his hands up and laced his fingers together, trying to tempt Domitia's eyes into breaking contact with his. They didn't. "Kill the Orks and bring back the head of their war lord."

Domitia did a quick calculation. That chapter was decimated, and had little more than four companies. Little more than four hundred marines to deal with a horde of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of Orks. It was suicide to accept. "Very well father, when next I set eyes on you I shall have another victory to my name." it was impossible to miss the smirk behind her father's hands, she knew he was sending her to her death.

"You have forty eight hours to muster your warriors and ship out of orbit." His smirk grew to a malicious grin and he added, "take a second longer and I'll have you shot for treason." She wanted to scream and rip him off of the throne, to kill him and disband his legion, permanently ending his legacy. But she didn't. she bottled the rage, and saved it for when she would need it.

Domitia turned her back to her father, and slowed her pace as she walked away, to send as much tacit disrespect to him as she could before leaving his sight. Once she was about two thirds of the way to the bronze doors, she quickened her pace, and finally started to show visible signs of her discomfort and distress. Again the eunuchs opened the doors for her, but as soon as she stepped out, someone called to her. "Domitia!" She did not slow her pace, but she did look to see the scarified face of Khârn, rushing to meet her. She sped up, having no wish to speak to her father's lapdog. He ran to her and grasped her arm, "Domitia listed to me for-"

She cut him off by smacking his hand off of her arm and cocking her head to face him without stopping. "I have nothing to say to you." She kept walking.

"Domitia! Stop for a moment, I need to speak to you." She did not. He ran in front of her and held his arms out from his sides, blocking her path. "I will speak with you."

She stopped and studied him for a brief moment. He was dressed simply, in a red tunic and loose breeches. The only ornamentation on him was the gold stud set into his brow, identifying him as the captain of the first company of his chapter. It was set next to his two other silver studs. Domitia had the honor of carrying a bronze stud, as she was a Primarch's scion, but it was not something that brought her pride like Khârn's row of metal. The concern on his face seemed genuine, and he, like her, was not one for speaking with no purpose.

She looked him in the eyes and said, "If I had reason to speak with you, I would." She started to push past one of his arms and she continued, "As my days are now numbered I desire not to waste a moment." He pushed her in front of him, many of his muscle augments bulged through his skin as he did.

"Your father does not want you dead." Khârn was trying to reassure her, but she did not want his words.

"Do not speak as if you know his mind." She tried to shove past him again and he resisted her again. "You are a Terran, he would no more trust you than his cup bearer." She snarled at him and kept taunting, "Even if he favors you, you're no more than a trusted hound to him. That's how he sees people, as pets to whom he is master." She spat that last sentence.

Khârn replied with measured words, "He is trying to make you stronger, to temper you in bat-" Domitia shoved Khârn as hard as she could, using her scion's strength and all of her augments to do it. She managed to knock him down and send him sliding for many feet before the thick carpet slowed him to a stop.

"Strength!" she yelled stepping towards the fallen man, "Is hardly something I lack." Several figures in the chamber were looking at her and Khârn, none spoke. "I am strong enough! This is no trial!" She screamed at the prone man. "It is no secret that he wants me dead, this is just an assassination wearing the uniform of a sortie!" she kicked Khârn in the ribs and yelled something unintelligible at him. After that she stormed off. Restraining the urge to rip his throat out with her teeth.

Her room was on the far side of the palatial compound. It was little more than a bunk to sleep on, a portable wargear locker with attendant servitors, and a simple cogitator terminal. She ripped the door open and slammed it behind her as she entered. She screamed through clenched teeth and slammed a fist against a wall, denting the sheet steel. She clenched all of her muscles and seethed for a few moments before throwing herself on her bunk, exhausted by her looming mortality. She lay there, contemplating just waiting for two days without moving, and just allowing her father to take her head from her shoulders for it.

_But that means that he wins_.

The niggling notion writhed behind her thoughts of giving up, stoking her rage and building up her motivation to die on her own terms, out of spite if nothing else. So she stood up, and walked to her cogitator, and started typing in commands.

-_Hammers of Nuceria_ chapter-

-Prepare for deployment within 36 hours-

-Gather at Ultantor shuttle yard and wait for further orders-

At that she stood and programmed the same orders into her locker, and it started to hum and whir as internal program engines called for servitors to carry it to the shuttle. She turned and set out for the shuttle yard, a fire already burning in her heart.


	2. Chapter 2

She was on board the cruiser before most of the company had even left the capitol. She was in one of the training rooms, beating on a sparring dummy with a meteor hammer. The Caedere weapon was a heavy weight on the end of a very long chain. An impractical weapon to be sure, but the crowds loved them, and the skill required to use one made men valuable in the pits. As she spun the chain about, picking up immense amounts of momentum, she grew more and more invested in the strike. She would build and build, adding more tension to the moment and making her want to hit the dummy more. But she never did. Every blow was a near miss, just shy of contact, and it kept her going, kept her hearts pumping, and her adrenaline flowing. She wanted to hit it, to splinter the dummy, but she always pulled back on the chain, reining herself in, to keep the dance going.

There was a knock on the door, and she lost concentration, and the weighted ball of the meteor hammer slammed into the dummy and knocked it to pieces. She looked at the door and said. "Come in." she started to coil the chain for the gladiator weapon, and push the debris to the sides of the small room with her feet. The door opened and three men walked in. She wasn't looking at them. She kept coiling the hammer, and asked, "What is it?" one of them coughed, trying to subtly point something out without speaking. Domitia had no time for fools too polite to speak their minds. She spun to face them, and saw wild anxiety and embarrassment on their faces.

One had a hand over his mouth, the coughing one she supposed, he was Terran. He had skin the color of mahogany and a row of silver and iron studs on his heavy brow. Next to him was a Nucerian with a scalp lock and absolutely no apprehension on his face, and more silver. The last was young, his ethnicity uncertain. Only a single copper stud was hammered above his right eye. The dark man and the young one looked unsure about what to do, but the Nucerian was absolutely unfazed.

The Nucerian spoke, "First Captain ," he gave a slight head bow, "I am Korant, and this is Flederman, the company champion" he gestured at the dark man, "and this is Dakhrin, the standard bearer." He gestured to the younger man. "We are honored to have you lead our host." His voice was level and without flair, she recognized the calloused and resigned tone of a gladiator from the pits of old Nuceria.

Domitia nodded and asked, "You are Nucerian? I didn't know that any of our people joined the legion."

He nodded and replied, "The Primarch isn't very fond of us, and so we serve this in chapter rather than on the important fronts." the comment struck Domitia as odd, but she made no mention of it.

"Then you are the command squad?" the men nodded in agreement, but Flederman and Dakhrin were trying to keep their eyes up. Confused, she glanced down and noticed she wasn't wearing a shirt. She had stripped down to almost nothing while she was sparring without a second thought, she didn't want to feel the cloth sticking to her skin. She had completely forgotten about her nudity, and suddenly felt stupid for not remembering that she was exposed. It didn't matter to her, in the pits, modesty was an ill afforded luxury, which is why Korant cared nothing for her exposed breasts. But the Terran, and the young warrior who had not been raised in those same circumstances were unsure as to how they should act. To keep them off guard, and made no visible notice of her nudity.

Korant responded, "Yes First Captain . We shall be accompanying you into battle at the van." He paused for only a moment to ask, "Where exactly is that going to be Captain ?" the word felt awkward in his mouth, he wasn't sure what title to call her. She cursed herself internally for not thinking to include their destination in the shipping orders. There was no undoing it, but she could take it instride.

Domitia ran a hand through her tangle of sweaty hair, slicking it back. "As soon as everyone is gathered I will give the navigator our destination, and I will brief the assembled war host." She looked right into Korant's eyes as she said it, trying to size him up. He seemed confused by her motives, but not hesitant like his companions.

"Why wait?" asked as simply and plainspoken as a warrior could be.

Domitia paused and wondered that herself, and shrugged with her reply, "I wanted to work out my anger first." She nodded her head towards the destroyed dummy. "As soon as I bathe and don my armor ill head to the bridge." Korant nodded in acknowledgement.

"With respect Captain , you don't need to do everything yourself. We'll convey the information to the navigators while you prepare." His face did not twitch once since he entered the room. He was hard to read, but Domitia thought she knew enough to plan her next move. If he spoke plainly, then so would she.

"I want you to know that this directive is aimed at getting me killed." She said the words with neither mirth nor choler, stating them like they were simple facts. But the three men, they laughed. Korant only snickered for a moment, but Flederman, he had a hard time standing he was laughing so hard. The youth was still apprehensive, so he checked his tongue, but she saw that he understood the source of the levity. "What is so damned funny about a suicide mission?" she bellowed. The laughter died in their throats, and the room was still for many moments.

"First Captain." Flederman offered, "This is not the first time our Primarch has sent us to die, and it won't be the last." This shocked her. They already knew that they were being sent to their graves, and they didn't care. Flederman continued, "This chapter is comprised of every washout, Terran, and Political enemy of the Primarch. He tries to kill us daily." Domitia opened her mouth to respond, but no words came forth, she was stunned into silence.

Korant continued, "Yes mistress, we are every Nucerian, every Terran from before the founding, and every man in the legion who has ever dared to speak against Angron, ever stood in his way, or who survived when they ought not've." He actually seemed to smile at that. "we have been sent to our deaths more times than even the suicidally brave Salamanders, and every time, we survive." his voice started to trail away, but he quickly caught it and stopped.

Domitia responded to this brazen statement of fact with a question to alleviate her confusion, "So, this is not news to you?" She softened her posture, and removed the edge from her voice.

Flederman answered, "when we received orders from you, we thought that our fate may have changed for the better."

"But it hasn't…" Domitia interrupted. "My presence only means the hardening of my father's resolve to kill you all." she felt a deep twisting in her stomach that she was leading hundreds of good men to their deaths, and she was not living up to the standards of a commander, she was not being worthy of leading them to their ultimate ends.

"No." Dakhrin answered this. "this is a change of our fate." he spoke as if suddenly possessed by hope, "We have been given the Carcharodon herself. The only daughter of our Primarch." he looked her right in the eyes as he said his next sentence, "You are our salvation!" at that, Korant put a hand on his shoulder, and reined him in in a fashion that seemed like a practiced motion used by a father on his enthusiastic son.

"First Captain , what Dakhrin is trying to say, is that we are not scared, and with you at the van, we will not lose." His face was still stoic, but his mouth was curled ever so slightly into a smile.

Domitia did not share his confidence, and it was plain upon her face. "How can you be so sure though?" she asked incredulously. "you who have never met me, how can you have so much faith in my abilities." she shifted about, unsure how she liked being their saviour.

Dakhrin answered, "we saw you in the pits!" the shock of hearing that said drained some of the color from her face. her mouth hung open, and words would not come to her mind. she just stood there for many moments, thinking of the hundreds of lives she ended in the fighting pits of old Nuceria. she thought of the tools of killing that she had used, of the steel stained brown with dried blood and viscera, and of the cheers of the crowd. She was born into the morbid fraternity of gladiators, and for most of her life, that was all she knew. it gave her no pleasure, to slay another, but it kept her alive and fed.

But these men, they had seen her before she had truly discovered who she was. they had seen the Carcharodon. A beast from the pits that savaged anything within the reach of its steel jaws, and they thought it would save them. Domitia had spent many years trying to grow past what she had been, to rise above the Carcharodon that made up her soul. she wanted to better than the creature that lived just beneath her skin.

Flederman saw her distress and tried to reassure her, "He meant no offense by that Captain ." he straightened his posture and started using practiced social skills, ones that were utterly alien to the gladiator stock that shared the room. "What he meant to say was that he had seen you fight," that made her distress visibly worse, and he winced but plowed on, "and he thinks highly of your skill." he adjusted the tone of his voice ever so slightly, "Your presence gives us hope."

Domitia looked at each of them in turn. Dakhrin was confused; he wasn't sure how his words had caused so much pain to her, and as they met one another's eyes, he was concerned and sorry and puzzled. Korant knew exactly what she was going through, and it was evident in his eyes. he knew that she wasn't proud of her past, of the years spent as a pet, and he wanted to help her, but her experience was so much worse than his own that he could muster no true empathy. And Flederman, he was a Terran. All he knew about Old Nuceria was what he heard in hushed conversations or in drunken soliloquies made by shell shocked warriors who might have never even seen that world. All of them wanted to help, but she wasn't sure if they could.

"I was once known by the title, 'Carcharodon'." her voice was heavy, and despite her resolve, her superhuman will and presence of self, she was saddened just to think of the words that now spilled from her lips."you know this?" they nodded. "That was because in the pits I was no better than a beast, like one of those ocean predators that my name was taken from." her skin felt cold, and she felt goosebumps spread across her exposed flesh. "As soon as the taste of blood got in my mouth, I…" she stopped as she remembered the bodies of men and beasts she had mangled while the roaring crowd had cheered her on and showered the sandy pit with rose petals and copper coins. "I was a monster once I got a taste." she looked Dakhrin right in the eyes, "Do you think that that monster is going to save this chapter?" before he could collect his wits and answer she asked another question, "How a monster give you hope for a better future?"

Korant straightened his spine, and clasped his hands behind his back. he said simply, "We are all monsters here." he waited for several long moments before adding, "We all carry a sliver of our Primarch's soul within our hearts." he thumped his chest with one heavy fist and proudly added, "But where we have a spark, you have a bright flame." he actually beamed as he said that, much to Domitia's dismay.

She asked him with a bitter question, "Is that such a good thing?"

"Yes." Korant stated with no doubt in his soul. "Your father is a madman, given control of a legion purely because of his genes. He is the Emperor's son, handcrafted for this task, and that alone makes him our leader. Not his merits, not his judgement, and certainly not his sanity." what he just said would have put him on the executioner's block if he were within earshot of Angron. it shocked her that he would be so brazen, but it made sense that he would be among the chapter of doomed men if he ever hinted at those thoughts existing within his head. "You have your father's prowess in battle, and the wisdom that he does not possess." then the bombshell landed, "You are more fit to lead the legion then he."

"I, I am not… I can not…" Domitia stammered. she was shocked by this admission, and by the truth of it. her father was mad. he was a butcher. he did not lead so much as point his men in the direction of slaughter. he was a bloody handed monster that venerated war because he knew nothing else. he was not fit to rule. he should never have been put in charge of anything larger than a cadre of murderers.

But was she fit to take on that mantle? These men, judging by the looks on their faces, believed what Korant said. and if that sentiment was shared among the chapter, hundreds of marines wanted her to sit the brazen throne. but she did not feel worthy of that responsibility. she felt like a mewling babe, hopelessly lost amid a sea of insecure thoughts and high expectations. she felt that she was not worthy of leading the legion, but part of her acknowledged that when her father died, she would be next in line to take control. Even if his death was in part due to the axe she might bury into his neck.

"I am not fit to lead a legion, not now, and not in a thousand years." She said it as confidently as she could. she felt cold now, as the sweat on her skin had cooled, and she wanted to shiver. She pulled her hair back across her scalp, and tried to appear more confident than she was. she was unsure if she was successful in that endeavour.

Flederman joked, "I waited a century to meet my primarch. as soon as i did i was left here." he smirked as he continued, "I waited another fifty years to meet someone worthy of leading the legion. For you mistress, i can wait another thousand years for you to take control of the legion." both of the other men snickered slightly at the meager joke.

Dakhrin said, "First Captain , if you'll excuse us. we must see to the arrangements of bunking the troops and stowing gear." Domitia nodded in agreement. "And when would you like to address the chapter?"

"Two hours after we break orbit. i'll send you a definite time once that's happened." she nodded, and looked straight at the men. "Dismissed." they gave a short bow, and left the training room. once the door slid shut behind them, Domitia fell to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest, trying to be as small as she could manage to be. she wanted to stop existing for a few minutes, and just escape the idea growing in the corners of her mind. She sat there for many minutes, unmoving, an alien feeling came over her. Fear. Fear of what she may become. Fear that she may become what she hates so much, her father.

When next she was seen, the entire chapter was gathered in the port cargo hold, lined up by company and squadron. The ship had fled into the warp some time before, and as per her orders, the command squad had given the order for the chapter to assemble.

She stood outside of the massive room, flanked by Korant and Flederman, behind Dakhrin who was carrying chapter's banner. Both Korant and Flederman were wearing the livery of honor guards, golden torcs and polished bronze crested helmets, with halberds in hand. Domitia by comparison looked drab, wearing no gold, not even the cape that most captains and praetors were never without. just a cotton tunic and breeches, rugged boots. her arms were wrapped in pit fighter's bandages. Her only jewelry was in the form of an adamantium torc that her uncle had given her. it was meticulously polished, and shone like black steel. Each end of the twisted wires was capped with a sharks head, inlaid with silver and platinum. It was the only adornment that she felt was expressive, everything else was just cloth or metal… this though, this was a part of her soul.

Korant looked to Domitia and gestured towards the door. She nodded. Flederman stepped up to the door and opened it. the doors were meant to allow fully armored terminators through, so it took a few moments for the servo motors to pull the slabs of steel inside the walls. as soon as Dakhrin could fit through the gap, he strode into the room, and slammed the banner on the deck three times. The metal butt-cap made a concussive bang with each strike, and all noise inside the massive room died. He then strode up the aisle, carrying the gigantic flag with both hands firmly on the ash pole. Domitia followed a few paces behind him, flanked by the other members of the command element.

Every head followed her progress up the aisle, looking for the first time at the daughter of their master. She looked back, seeing the faces of the men she was leading to the jaws of hell. Many were dressed in the style of Nucerian warriors, same as her. others wore cassocks or other robes like the monkish dark angels. But all had the demeanor of World Eaters. Every visible patch of skin had scars displayed, every brow was studded, and all of their eyes had the dull shine of professional killers.

She walked to the stage that had been erected from cases of bolt shells and spare parts. it was several hundred meters from the doors to the stage. The walk was long, and she felt as if the assembled marines were striping her of her flesh with their gazes. Most had never seen female space marines, fewer had seen a Scion. They looked at every inch of her they could see, and she felt every gaze on her skin as if they were crawling insects. she wanted to knock a few skulls together and scream 'eyes forward', but she resisted the urge. these men did not know her, she had not earned their respect, nor their fear.

Dakhrin reached the stage first, and found a place to stand, holding the banner high for all to see. Domitia followed suit, and climbed to the highest box, and stood there. Korant and Flederman took positions in front of the stage, gilded halberds crossed. Domitia stood there for many moments, thinking of what to say, but the more she thought, the farther her words were from her grasp. so she just started speaking.

"_Hammers of Nuceria_, your Primarch, my father has ordered us to go to the Imperial world RU12-37 to deal with a warband of the Xenos known as Orks." she spoke from the diaphragm, letting her voice reverberate off of the cavernous steel walls. "He has sent us without permission to request more equipment from the armory, and he has sent us without support." she swallowed, and continued, "He has sent us to our graves." the gathered chapter gave no response. "But I have been told that this is not new to you, and that you have a reputation for surviving when my father would want otherwise." she swelled her voice with confidence that she did not possess, "That is exactly the talent we are going to need. Because as you all know, Orks do not travel in small groups, and for this horde to have taken an entire imperial planet, there must have been millions of them." she paused to catch her breath, and pressed on. "we have been tasked with defeating a superior force, because our master wants us dead."

"Angron, in his malicious politics, placed all of you here because you were Terrans, or Nucerians, because you questioned him, or because he felt that you have not the strength to cut muster in the legion proper. you are the objects of his hate, and so am I." she raised her voice for effect, "We shall not give that bloody-handed tyrant the pleasure of our deaths. We shall endure this trial, and any other he forces upon us, and we shall succeed. We will survive and pour victories at his feet out of spite." she stepped to the edge of box that she stood on and continued, "We will not fail, nor will we yield in the face of impossible odds, because that is not what Astartes do, that is not what World Eaters do." She pounded her chest and yelled, "The blood of old Nuceria flows like a flood through my veins, and it is in all of you too! No matter the shape of your face, the color of your skin, you are World Eaters, and you will slay those Orks! This is our duty as Astartes, and our battle as the rejects of the legion!"

At that they cheered. They stomped their booted feet on the deck and roared their praise. It was energizing for Domitia, a feeling that she had not had since the last time she stood on the red sands. but that was praise for her butchery, this was for her ideals, her motives, for her. she roared with them, and felt a feeling that was utterly alien to her. Something that she knew only for a brief time in the court of the Raven.

She was home.


	3. Chapter 3

A chapter of Astartes is not a set size. Each chapter is responsible for recruiting its own soldiers, training them, and determining what they will do. The Hammers of Nuceria chapter was not allowed to use any of the draw worlds owned by the World Eaters, thus it could not recruit from good stock often, so it was barely four companies strong. If all of the auxiliary troops were fielded alongside the line soldiers, then Domitia had five hundred Astartes to win her war with.

She stared at the screen on the cogitator terminal in front of her. it had the statistics regarding Chapter strength and logistical, dangers. she was in the briefing room, waiting for a meeting with the consulate of the chapter, to discuss the very information she was reading now. The chapter was tasked with slaying an Ork horde of unspecified size, and from what she just gathered, this task need be done with limited resources.

She called the meeting not long after her speech, because after seeing the assembled chapter, doubts started to eat at her about her ability to win this fight. She remembered seeing the gathered XIX legion, assembled in rigid formation, black and white armor gleaming in the blue-tinged sunlight of Deliverance. She remembered how impressive they looked, how mighty and unstoppable they were. Then her mind shifted to the image of her chapter, and how meager they appeared. She longed for her uncle's aid, just his advice, and reassuring presence. But he was on the other side of the galaxy, fighting his own war on alien soil.

Her thoughts of home were interrupted when Korant walked into the room. Following him were several other Astartes that she did not know. He nodded towards her and said, "First Captain, these men are a part of the consulate." he gestured to the three men and started introducing them, as he did, Domitia looked each one up and down, sizing them up. "This is Jakkob, the master of signal." This man was slight for an Astartes, and pale. He had a cogwheel tattooed onto his right bicep, and an augmented forearm on his left. He had the red and white studs of a student of the cult mechanicus, which struck Domitia as odd. Korant kept speaking, "This is Kollt, our Battlesmith." This man was older than the first by several decades, which was obvious from the gray streaks in his hair. His whole right arm was metal, from the pectoral on, Domitia could see the whirring servos and sliding pistons through the holes in his tunic. His studs were all red enameled adamantium, he was indeed, a Master of the Forge. "And this is Shavan, the Primus Medicae." This last man was the one who interested Domitia the most; his arms were covered in spiraling patterns of waves and sharks teeth, stylized into bands that climbed up from his hands to his shoulders. He was bronze colored, with stern features, and a mix of silver and brass studs from the center of his forehead to his temple. He radiated a feeling of intensity and power that intrigued Domitia for reasons she couldn't deduce.

Kollt spoke next, "First Captain, it is an honor to serve you." a look of strained congeniality crept onto his face, "I hope we are enough to do what must be done." That earned his a glare from Shavan, and a quick glance from Korant.

Domitia answered him, "That is exactly the subject that we shall discuss during this meeting. whether or not we are capable of doing the impossible."

Korant didn't waste a second, "We are. the question is rather one of, how?" His enthusiasm was infectious, and in moments Jakkob and Kollt shared smiles of assured determination. but their beaming was met by the dour glare of Domitia, and their visible hope died within moments of her gaze fixing on either of them. She wanted them to be rational, to assess the situation as it is, not as they might wish it to be… and hope would only poison their judgement.

She said, "It is good to meet you, but make no mistake, our victory is hardly assured." she sighed and stretched her neck, popping it in multiple places. "This meeting shall be the determination of whether or not we can win this."  
The consuls took their seats, each one taking a spot that she assumed was the one they were most used to, because the spots chosen couldn't have been random. Shavan spoke up and asked, "First captain, If I may be so blunt, will you require nails in this chapter?" That caught everyone off guard, and silence reigned for many moments. Domitia couldn't imagine what might drive that to be the first thing he asked his commander, or what might prompt that question. She knew that she hated the cursed implants, but if it was standard fare for this chapter, then she might have to work around the berserkers. She didn't know.

She looked at the other gathered consuls and translated the shock on their faces into information to guide her next words. he responded with a question, "Are there any nails on this ship?" Again, shocked silence charged the air with nervous energy after her words fell silent. Shavan nodded yes, that there were Butcher's Nails on the Hand of Malice. "Have them dumped out an airlock before we next speak."

Shavan smiled slightly, an odd addition to his intense features. he nodded and said, "Very well First Captain, it shall be done." Some of the tension left the room as she tacitly pronounced that no one would be subjected to the horrific bonding of Nails to their brains. He then started typing on a data slate, no doubt drafting the written order to space all of the Butcher's Nails.

Domitia then waited, and over the next few minutes, more men filtered into the room, each one introducing himself as he did.

A stocky man with a chemical burn scar from tip tips of his left hand fingers to mid bicep introduced himself, "First Captain, I am Tymeron, siegebreaker of the chapter." he gave a short bow as he said it, and took a seat not far from her.

A scrawny man with hollows around his eyes bowe at the waist before passing the threshold into the room, saying only, "Ma'm, I am Severin, the chapter's Vigilator." He spoke barely louder than a whisper, be he carried an air of calm around him.

Two men came in at once, each wearing the distinctive red and navy cloak of a captain. the first did not speak, and the second grabbed his left shoulder with his right hand and bowed slightly in the style of a Nucerian noble. He said, "I am Seo Rahn, and this is Dra'Mattor, we are the captains of the tactical cohorts."

Almost six minutes after the captains came the final consul. He wore the single color tunic and breeches of everybody else, but where they carried their service studs with pride, his were tarnished silver and rusted iron. He had half a dozen silver rings piercing the arch of one of his ears, and a ruby set into the skin under his left eye, carved to look like a bloody tear. he walked in and unceremoniously slid into the nearest chair, never even stopping to put out the Lho stick that was still burning between his teeth. He dragged in another breath of rancid smoke, and held it, savoring the flavor of the burning plants. when he blew it out, it didn't look unlike a manufactorum smokestack belching acrid fumes into the air.

Domitia felt the urge to rip the paper tube from his mouth and smack him, but he had done nothing wrong. He emanated an aura of disrespect and insubordination so strong that she already wanted to ring his neck. She suppressed the urge and drew a deep breath before saying the first words of the meeting. "Consulate, for many of you, this is our first meeting. I would like to clear the air about a few things before we begin this, that there is no misconception in anyone's mind." She paused and swallowed, unsure of how to put the next words she would say. "My father is sending us to our deaths." there were a few expressions of surprise, and a shocked grunt, but for the most part this was not news to the gathered leaders. "But despite the wishes of our Primarch, I have no intention of rolling over and dying for him." that evoked a few bitter smiles and nods of agreement. "We are going to go to RU12-37 to cleanse the planet of the Orks that have overrun it, and what we need to determine, is how exactly we will do that." he held a hand out beckoning, "Where does the chapter stand? I want to know what we have and what we can do before drawing up any plans."

Kollt answered first, "We have four hundred and seventy-two Astartes, seventeen rhinos, four of which are inoperable, two thunderhawks, neither of which are gunship variants, two predator battle tanks, enough missile launchers and heavy bolters to outfit a half a dozen support squadrons, a little over thirty-three thousand bolt-shells, and enough spare parts to make fields repairs on any of our vehicles twice."

Domitia nodded in thanks to him, unsure of how to respond. she knew enough about battle planning to see that she had damn near no supplies at all. That was troublesome, not only for her plans that had yet to be, but also for her confidence in her ability to do this.

Shavan spoke, "First Captain, we have enough medical supplies to keep the chapter hale for maybe a day and a half of heavy fighting… that is of course, a very abstract figure."

Domitia asked to the room in general, "How long will these supplies last?" there was a brief silence, as everyone at the table crunched numbers, guessed consumption rates, and tried to compare the current situation to previous predicaments. The only person not lost in thought was the as of yet unnamed man, who was slouched in his chair, pulling another lho stick out of a crumpled paper packet, lighting it with the ember on the tip of his current tube.

Kollt answered, "First Captain, those statistics equate to the following reality. we have two point three magazines per Astartes. We have twelve missiles per launcher, two hundred heavy bolts per heavy bolter, and enough energy stored for each lascannon to fire six times before it is dry. we have enough promethium to either move our Rhinos seventy kilometers each, or fire our flamers continuously for three minutes." he said every word in as even a tone as he could manage, just like a true student of the Omnissiah. But Domitia could hear the quaver in his voice, and she knew that this information was distressing him. Similarly everyone else was concerned at this, save, for the smoker, whose mouth curled slightly into a smirk.

Severin, the Vigilator, added, "Similarly, the seeker squadrons have nought but a handful of specialist shells, maybe fifteen Scorpius pattern, thirty-six or forty Kraken shells, and maybe fifty Tempestus shells." Judging by his look, Domitia guessed that he had lain his hands on every one of those bolts that he mentioned.

"What of orbital support? Master of signal?"

Jakkob bit his tongue as he formulated a suitable answer. "First captain…" he started to drum his fingers on the table, very nervous. "This ship is unarmed." he said it quickly, and kept his eyes shut as he said it.

Domitia let her mouth hang open, utterly dumbfounded. she ran a hand through the strip of hair that ran down her scalp, brushing her bronze stud as she did, unable to fathom what she had just been told. she started to ask 'how?', but one of the captains answered before she said anything, "First Captain, The Hand Of Malice does possess weapons, but we have no ammunition for any of them, and most are in disrepair. Even if we were to secure torpedoes or lance power-capacitors, something else in the decrepit weapons would likely break before we loaded them."

"Do we have drop pods at least?" Domitia asked. "And some means to launch them?" she added hastily, before any bad news might spoil even a mildly hopeful answer.

Kollt answered, "Yes, we have a dozen drop pods, and functioning launchers and retrieval gear."

Domitia let some thoughts bounce around in her head and then just started speaking, saying everything, hoping that something made enough sense that the consulate could piece together a plan from what she spilled out. "What I am hearing, is that we will only have enough ammunition for a brief firefight, followed by a prolonged hand to hand slaughter. we have no air support, and no orbital support. No artillery, and no armor." she balled her hands up into fists, and continued, "We know nothing about the battlefield, nor do we have any concrete information regarding our enemy's size or composition. We have no obvious ability to tip the scales in our favor." She wanted to scream, to claw at empty air and gnash her teeth at phantoms, to release the tension and brewing fury within her soul. She felt a need to spill blood, and rule her assembled leaders through the fear of physical retribution. but she kept all of that safely under a lid, and she kept calm.

After several deep breaths, she said, "I will send an Astropathic message to the nearest Imperial Army garrison in the sector and tell them to meet us there, with a landing zone ready." she nodded, feeling strategies begin to brew in her brain. "This will help ease our supply troubles, and give us the aid of heavy artillery and air support." She laced her fingers together and felt confidence return to her. "We may even get a division of Solar Auxillia to work with, and their numbers as well as their armored support will shift fate to in our favor."

There was mild discontent at the table. Downcast eyes and shallow gulps were visible on most of the men at the table. Tymeron spoke up, "First Captain, we have survived without support for many decades now, and we have never called for support before." Domitia sent him a look that simply stated, 'and?'. "To call for aid now would wound the pride of our warriors and-"

Domitia squinted slightly, sat up to her full sitting height, and spread her arms out, displaying her augmented muscles. she interrupted him, "To the warp with their pride." that prompted a few gasps and shocked expressions. "I am not here to nurse the egos of dead men." she knew that her comments were biting, and she said them all the same, deliberately wounding the gathered leaders to establish her dominance. "I have been assigned to this chapter to get everyone killed because my father thinks me too womanly and weak to truly fight." she pointed at the solitary stud in her brow, "He has forbidden me from carrying the iron of a rank warrior, or the silver of a captain." her voice raised slightly, "He forbids me from bearing any of the marks of a captain or a Praetor, because he thinks so little of me." she looked at every man, keeping her gaze moving across the consulate. "But he underestimates me, because his contempt blinds him from the truth." she slammed her chest with a clenched fist in the way that gladiators would do to salute one another. "I will lead us to victory, because for me, there is no other option." her determination was starting to infect the room, and slowly, the faces of the gathered men shifted from fear and awe, to respect and fervor. "I do not care what the rest of the legion thinks of us, or what the rest of the thrice-damned Imperium thinks of us. Because we will look every trial put before us right in the eyes, and conquer it with the same indefatigable valor that shall come to define us."

She lowered her voice back down to regular speaking level and continued, "But where my father is blinded by his hubris, we will not be. We will not let our pride deny us aid that we need, nor will we allow our contempt to shame our brothers." she let her lips curl into a slight smile, "We need the army to win this war, so that we can sail back to the flotilla with the greenskin warlord's head, ready to be thrown at my father's feet." She had won everyone over, they were rapt by her performance, ready to leap into the fray at that very moment. all of them were so, except for the smoker, who looked absolutely bored.

Domitia looked to Kollt and said, "I want one of your techmarines to assist Severin and the Seekers in the construction of more tempest bolt shells." she then turned to Severin, "assign two of your marksmen to test the legionaries accuracy on the simulator-ranges, they will decide who carries a bolter to battle." She paused only to catch her breath and work out what she wanted done next, "Jakkob, send a message to the nearest Army unit to RU12-37 and demand their support. Tymeron, I want a complete inventory of every heavy weapon in our possession, and how many of them are compatible with Imperial Army munitions. Kollt, I want both Predators fully functional, and if at all possible, get the guns on this ship into working order, although that is a secondary objective." She wasn't sure what she wanted Shavan to do, so she made something up, "Shavan, I'll need an inventory of the chapter's medical supplies, and estimates to how long we can maintain a battle with those. Consulate dismissed." Everyone stood, a few men bowed, and everyone filed out of the room wordlessly. Domitia grabbed Korant's arm as he passed her, stopping him. he understood, and stood by while the rest of the Consulate left.

Once the room was empty, Domitia said, "I bid you sit, please." He did, and he fixed her with a quizzical look. She let some of her masks drop away, and she spoke to him without the false confidence or any superiority, "Korant, I hope you can see that I am utterly out of my depth."

Korant nodded and said, "You handled yourself well." it was a statement of flat fact, with no inflection or reassurance to it, just like a Nucerian, just like she wanted. He added, "Do not mistake the Consulate's lack of choler for a lack of skill or of determination." he paused and brushed his fingertips over the polished metal in his brow, searching for words. "We all know that we are going to die, as Astartes that is our lot in life, to die for the Emperor and the Imperium after carving his foes into carrion. But, we... this chapter knows that we will die pointless deaths under an alien sky serving only our master's spite." What he said seemed to Domitia a touch too romantic and artistic of a sentence for a pit fighter to have formulated, but she wasn't sure what constituted normal onboard this ship yet.

"I have no intention of leading this chapter to its death." Domitia answered, but despite the truth regarding her intentions, she knew that reality was far worse. "I have no intention, but I realize that what I wish does not bend fate."

Korant said, "I understand, as one of this chapter's commanders, I have seen many hopeless battlefields, many pyrrhic victories, and the pyres or our dead stretching across kilometers. Every battle for us is one step closer to extinction."there was sorrow in his voice, a sadness that felt deeper than the space between the stars, and darker than the midnight shade of the eyes of her Uncle.

Domitia sighed, and then stretched out, feeling tension in her augmented muscles, reminding her through discomfort that she was alive. "However desperate the situation, we are Astartes, and we will overcome the trial set before us." Korant nodded, and started to get up but Domitia held a hand to stop him. she added, "Two more things." he sat, and she continued speaking, "I hope that you understand that I said these things to you in confidence, and I shall wish to confide in you more in the future."  
Korant answered, "I understand completely, whatever you must do to maintain your sanity, you should do." again, the flat tone of a pit-fighter reassured her in its monotone.

She replied with a question that was gnawing at her mind, "The last thing I wanted to ask you is… who was the Consul with the ruby tear, he declined to introduce himself."

Korant's features visually darkened, and he suddenly looked as if anger were brewing in him. His voice actually quavered as he spoke, as he was containing his anger, "That was Consul Ghorol, the leader of this chapter's _Destroyer_ units." he said the word like it was bitter, and he wanted it to off of his tongue as quickly as it could be gone. "He is an honorless dog, a bloody-handed murderer, and an insubordinate, morale-tanking, thorn in every commander's side." His voice rose as he spoke, and his pupils fluttered as rage started to boil in his soul. "That dog is responsible for the deaths of many of his brothers, as well as those of two captains, and a member of Angron's bodyguard."

Domitia was shocked as he continued to extol upon every flaw in the Ghorol's character, and every failing of his. but she listened, and she got the impression that Korant did not speak this freely as often as he ought to. He ranted for many long minutes before regaining his composure and listening to Domitia tell a story of a time long ago, about her standing shoulder to shoulder with men whose faces she could no longer make out in her memory. She told of the cerulean sky and the bloody mud, of the scattered limbs and the burning wrecks of archaic battle engines. She told him about the smell of dying men and diesel fuel. She told him about the strength that left her limbs, and how she sank before an approaching tank, accepting her fate to die beneath its spiked treads. She finished her tale by describing the magnificence of the Raven as he came to save her. She told him of Uncle Corvus.


End file.
